


Showtime

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Silly, case-typical action, or lack of action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1998867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The show must go on, but sometimes the show needs a little help. Written for JWP #21.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Showtime

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: I don't actually know the theatre world all that well, much less this particular subset, so I'm sure I got lots of things wrong. Passing reference to [Role With It](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1998858), but you don't need to read that in order to read this. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a huge rush. You have been warned.
> 
> JWP #21: Constrained Compassion. Have a character help someone else who would normally be distanced from that character by some social or economic factor: race, religion, country of origin/allegiance, vegetarianism…

“Ten minutes, Connie.”  
  
“Thank you, ten.” Connie Linguist’s heavily lashed eyes met John’s reflection in the brightly lit mirror. Her face was a perfect work of art, right down to the beauty mark carefully applied to her left cheekbone. Long waves of coppery-red hair trailed down her back in perfect curls. Her dress would have looked perfectly in place at the BAFTA awards. And the body it covered was calculated to make men weak at the knees. She was, in short, an utter knockout.  But the usual practiced perfection of her smile was missing, replaced instead by a genuine look of gratitude. “And let me say, John, you’ve been an absolute godsend the last few days. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”  
  
“I’m just doing what needs to be done,” John demurred.  
  
“But that’s just it, darling. You’ve somehow figured out what needs to be done, and more to the point, you’re able to _do_ it, and get everyone _else_ to do what they need to do, too. And trust me, I know that when it comes to herding cats or drag queens – we queens are much, much harder to handle. I thought we were sunk after Frankie quit without any warning.” The long-time emcee of the night club show pursed her ruby-red lips. “Are you sure you don’t have any stage-managing experience, my dear?”  
  
John shrugged. “I did security for a director once,” he said, thinking of a previous case. “I guess I must have picked up a few things.”  
  
Connie smiled coyly and rose to her feet, towering over John in the platform heels that added twelve centimeters to her 1.8 meters of natural height. Even in street clothes, Connie - or Bob Farley, as he was when not in character - was tall. “I think you’re a natural. And a sweetheart. Now wish me luck and get those other girls on the move.”  
  
“You don’t need luck, Connie. I know you’ll knock ‘em dead.”  
  
“Flatterer,” she called after him as he made his way to the next dressing room. “True, though.”  
  
“Lettuce Shag, Roxy Loxy, Bo Toxxx, Frankie Wood, Honey Bee, line-up in five.”  
  
“Thank you, five,” trilled Sherlock along with the rest of the competing queens.


End file.
